


Head Above Water

by sahiya



Series: IronFam post-Endgame Cuddle Fic [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Awesome Pepper Potts, But really it is 90 percent fluff, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Fever Dreams, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Peter Parker, Sick Morgan Stark, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Vomiting, ironfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-02-28 19:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: “FRIDAY has all the emergency numbers,” Pepper said, “including Morgan’s pediatrician. There’s food in the fridge––soup for Tony and Morgan, lasagna and mac and cheese for you. Make sure Morgan is drinking her Pedialyte, and see if you can get her to sleep in her own bed tonight. And don’t let Tony go on a fever-driven work binge.”“Got it,” Peter said, nodding. “FRIDAY, fridge, Pedialyte, no work binge.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxx_cat_xxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_cat_xxx/gifts).



> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for the lightning fast beta, and thanks to xxx_cat_xxx for the prompt that spawned this fic, though the actual prompt doesn't get filled until the second chapter.

“Thank you for doing this,” Pepper said, gathering up her suitcase and her purse. “I’m sure it was hard to take time off in the middle of the semester.”

Peter shrugged. “Almost all my lectures are posted online, and my lab partner for chem owes me a favor from when she had the flu in February. It’s fine. I’m glad you called.” Peter glanced toward the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. “Anything I should know?”

“FRIDAY has all the emergency numbers,” Pepper said, “including Morgan’s pediatrician. There’s food in the fridge––soup for Tony and Morgan, lasagna and mac and cheese for you. Make sure Morgan is drinking her Pedialyte, and see if you can get her to sleep in her own bed tonight. And don’t let Tony go on a fever-driven work binge.”

“Got it,” Peter said, nodding. “FRIDAY, fridge, Pedialyte, no work binge.”

“Perfect. I’ll be back in three days, max, all right? I’m going to try and cut it down to two.”

“Right,” Peter said. 

Pepper didn’t move. 

“Pepper?” Peter finally said. 

“Sorry, this is just harder than I thought it would be,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. “It’s not like I haven’t left before, just never when they were both sick. Maybe canceling wouldn’t be a complete disaster––”

“Don’t do this. _Go_ ,” Peter said, grabbing her suitcase from her and pushing her toward the door. “Call us when you get there, all right?”

“Okay.” Pepper turned in the doorway and threw her arms around Peter. “Take good care of them for me.”

“I will,” Peter said. “Have a good trip.”

She nodded––looking, if Peter was honest, a little watery. But she took the handle of her suitcase from him and left. Peter shut the door behind her. 

With Pepper successfully out the door, Peter gave himself two minutes to freak out. This wasn’t exactly in his wheelhouse, and it wasn’t at all what he’d expected when Pepper had called him the night before. He hadn’t hesitated before agreeing to come down and take care of Tony and Morgan while they were flu-ridden so Pepper could go to her super important meeting in London, but now that he was actually here, he had to admit that it was kind of intimidating. 

His two minutes were up. Peter took a deep breath. 

The Pedialyte was in the fridge. Peter grabbed a bottle of it for Morgan, figuring he’d see if Tony wanted tea or something else, and headed upstairs to see his patients. 

They were camped out in Tony and Pepper’s room, because Morgan was clingy as hell when she was sick. Peter stuck his head in without knocking, hoping they would both be asleep. 

Morgan was passed out under her _Moana_ comforter, limbs all over the place, taking up a shocking amount of room for a kid her size. Tony was lying half-propped up on pillows, holographic diagrams hovering above him. Peter watched him give a half-hearted swipe and then let his hand fall listlessly to the bed. He was pale and had a sheen of sweat on his brow, as well as two days of unkempt beard growth. 

Peter cleared his throat. Tony glanced up. “Hey kid,” he said roughly. “Pepper get off okay?”

“Yep,” Peter said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “Before she left, she gave me strict instructions, though. No ‘fever-driven work binges.’” He nodded at the diagrams.

“I’ve been in bed for a day and a half, I’m _bored_ ,” Tony sighed. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Never mind, you’re right, everything is garbage anyway.” He waved his hand and the diagrams vanished. “Sorry you had to come down and take care of us.”

Peter shrugged. “I wish you guys weren’t sick, but I don’t mind having a reason to come and see you in the middle of the semester. Now, what can I get you? I brought Pedialyte up with me, but I can make you tea instead.”

“I’ll do the Pedialyte. I’ve sadly acquired the taste at this point.”

Peter cracked the bottle open and handed it to him. “Are you okay with Morgan where she is?”

Tony sipped his Pedialyte. “She’s okay for now. Tonight... I hate to admit it but I really hope we can convince her to sleep in her own bed tonight. She was with me and Pepper the last two nights, and I hardly got any sleep at all.” 

“Speaking of sleep,” Peter said gently, “you look like you could use a nap.”

“Probably.” Tony rubbed his eyes and yawned. Peter stood up and removed a couple of the pillows so he was lying flatter. “I’m really glad you came, kid,” Tony mumbled blearily. 

“Me too,” Peter said. He turned off the bedside lamp, which cast the room into relative darkness. “I’m right here if you need me, okay?”

“Thanks,” Tony said. Or at least, that was what Peter thought he said. He was already mostly asleep. 

Peter spent the next couple of hours in the comfy chair in the corner of Tony and Pepper’s room, listening to the lecture he’d missed that afternoon through his headphones. He was still vacillating between chemical and mechanical engineering, and trying to figure out if he could minor in something––May was urging him to think about history or philosophy, something that would exercise the other half of his brain. And that sounded great, except he just wasn’t sure he had _time_. Four years had sounded like forever the day they’d moved him into his dorm room, but now it felt like he’d blinked and a quarter of it was gone. 

FRIDAY had a little box in the corner of Peter’s laptop screen with both Morgan and Tony’s vital signs. Peter kept one eye on it while he worked. Their temperatures were both too high, but everything else was okay. Tony’s blood pressure was a little low, but nothing that FRIDAY found worrisome. 

He’d finished one lecture and was about to start another when an alert flashed up that Morgan was starting to wake. He shut the laptop and set it aside, hoping that she might be able to wake up without disturbing Tony. 

He wedged himself onto the bed next to her and rested his hand on the top of her head. She was stirring slowly. Peter hoped she might fall back to sleep, but eventually she blinked her eyes open and looked up at him. 

“Hi there, snuggle bug,” he whispered. “How’re you feeling?”

“Bad,” she said, rubbing at her eyes. “I want Mommy.”

“Your mom had to go to London, remember? And you dad is sick, too. So your mom called me and asked me to come down.”

She looked up at him. “Mommy left?”

“Just for a couple of days,” Peter assured her, sensing that they were edging into the danger zone. “And I’m here and your daddy’s here. You’re in good hands, kiddo. And your mommy will call and talk to you tonight.”

But her bottom lip was already trembling. “I want Mommy. I don’t feel good and I want Mommy.” 

“Oh kiddo,” Peter sighed, gathering her up in his arms. “I know you don’t feel good.” She whimpered but didn’t start outright crying, clinging to Peter with both arms. “Shh, shh. You want to go sit in the rocking chair?”

She nodded miserably. Peter picked her up, _Moana_ comforter and all, and carried her down the hallway to the rocking chair in her room. It was big and comfortable, and Tony had told Peter once that the first couple of months of Morgan’s life, when she’d been a fussy infant who hated to sleep, he’d basically spent hours on end in it, trying to get her to go down. She loved the chair. Peter thought there was probably a part of her that remembered all those hours with her dad, and it made her feel safe.

Peter sat down in it with her in his arms and held her close. She was hiccuping, still crying a little, but he thought they’d managed to avoid a full-on tantrum. Maybe she’d even go back to sleep. Even if she didn’t, it was a nice moment, he thought, relaxing, feeling content and warm and glad to be here. 

That was when she threw up––mostly onto the _Moana_ comforter but also onto herself and Peter. 

It was so unexpected, Peter froze. Morgan burst into tears, and then she threw up again. 

“Shit,” Peter said, finally unfreezing. They were both covered in puke––mostly liquid but still––and now Morgan was crying. He stood up and carried her into the bathroom, trying not to freak out. There was no way they were going to avoid waking Tony now, but frankly that was the least of his problems. 

Sure enough, Peter had only managed to half-succeed in getting Morgan undressed when Tony appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. “What happened?” he asked, leaning against the door jamb. 

“Morgan got a little bit sick,” Peter said, trying not to freak either of them out. “So we’re just changing our clothes and then everything will be okay, right, snuggle bug?” 

She broke into fresh sobs, reaching for Tony. Tony sat down on the bathroom floor next to Peter, and she collapsed on top of him––rather dramatically, in Peter’s opinion. Peter sighed. “Are you okay for a couple minutes while I get her a change of PJs and dump the comforter in the washing machine?” And change his own clothes while he was at it. 

“Yeah, I’ve got her,” Tony said, cradling Morgan carefully against his chest while she cried.

 _Moana_ comforter in the washing machine. A brief pit stop in his own room to change into track pants and his oldest Midtown S&T t-shirt, because that was the kind of day this was shaping up to be. The kitchen for more Pedialyte. Then back upstairs to grab fresh PJs for Morgan out of her dresser. 

Morgan had calmed down a little while Peter had been taking care of things. She let Peter dress her in her fox pajamas without fussing, even though she still clung hard to Tony. Tony, for his part, looked like he was staying upright through sheer force of will. 

“Okay,” Peter said, once Morgan was dressed again. “Who wants to watch _Toy Story_?” 

Morgan waved her hand. Peter grinned at her. “Okay, come here,” he said, hefting her into his arms. “Tony––”

“I’m... just gonna sit here until you get back,” Tony said, letting his head fall back against the wall. 

Translation: _I can’t get up_. Great. 

Peter tucked Morgan under the comforter on Pepper and Tony’s bed. He waffled briefly, since there was no TV in the bedroom, and finally, with a silent apology to Pepper, took down the family photo from over the bedroom’s fireplace. “FRIDAY, can you project _Toy Story_ onto this wall?” he asked. In response, the credits started up. 

Peter retrieved Morgan’s stuffed monkey—cleverly named Monkmonk—from where it had fallen off the bed, poured Pedialyte into a sippy cup for her, and assured her he’d be right back. 

“Okay,” she mumbled, already mesmerized by the movie. If they were lucky, she’d fall asleep again. But Peter was not feeling particularly lucky. 

Tony was sitting where Peter had left him with his eyes closed. “Hey,” Peter said, crouching down next to him. He put his hand on Tony’s forehead and winced. “You doing okay?”

“I think I need more ibuprofen,” Tony croaked. 

“Ibuprofen, coming up,” Peter said, and stood up to dig the Advil out of the medicine cabinet. “Your stomach’s not bothering you, is it?”

“Not really,” Tony said. “I’m probably okay. Morgan’s a puker.”

“Great,” Peter sighed. He handed Tony two ibuprofen and a cup of water. “Think you can stand up?”

“I think I have to,” Tony said wearily. 

He didn’t _really_ was the good news; Peter used his spider strength to basically pick him up and put him on his feet. Then he looped Tony’s arm over his shoulders, wrapped his own arm around Tony’s waist, and shuffled them out of the bathroom and down the hall.

Tony had not done himself any favors getting out of bed, but he held it together in front of Morgan. He pulled away from Peter in the doorway and walking into the bedroom under his own power. “Hey, Morguna,” he said as he climbed into bed. “You feeling better?”

“Yep,” she said, snuggling up to him with Monkmonk in her arms. 

Tony ducked his head and whispered something in her ear. Morgan looked up at Peter, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Thanks for taking care of me,” she said, dark eyes wide. And then, in a moment of what Peter assumed was improvisation, “Sorry I puked on you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter said, reaching out to brush her hair back. “You’ll let me know if you start feeling icky again?”

She nodded. Peter got up long enough to make sure everyone something to drink—tea for him and Tony, more Pedialyte for Morgan—and then stretched out on the bed on Morgan’s other side, putting her between him and Tony. He kept a worried eye on Tony; he was still as pale as he’d been in the bathroom, and the vitals FRIDAY was displaying on Peter’s phone showed no improvement even after the ibuprofen. He was drinking his tea very slowly. 

Morgan didn’t fall asleep again, which didn’t surprise Peter. She’d never been a very good sleeper, according to Tony and Pepper. But she was content to watch the movie and snuggle with Tony until he fell asleep, at which point she flopped over on top of Peter.

Peter was a little wary after what had happened earlier, but after a half hour with no sign of impending disaster, he let himself relax and enjoy it. He supposed he could have tried to work––he wasn’t actively taking care of either of them at the moment, just holding Morgan––but he let himself off the hook for once. 

“You want to watch the next one?” Peter asked her quietly when the movie ended. “I need to go heat up dinner.”

She made a face. “I’m not hungry.”

Peter frowned. “You feeling icky?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. I don’t wanna throw up again.”

Peter smiled in sympathy. “I know, kiddo, but you need to eat something. Then you’ll take your medicine, go to sleep, and wake up feeling a lot better, I bet.” She already felt cooler to the touch, and Peter’s phone, with FRIDAY’s updates, confirmed that her fever was down. It might go back up still, but he suspected she’d be on the mend much faster than Tony. Tony’s temperature was stubbornly refusing to fall below a hundred and two, and Peter was honestly starting to get a little worried. 

Morgan heaved a sigh. “I don’t want soup,” she grumbled. 

“What do you want?” 

She shrugged. 

“Applesauce?”

She shook her head. 

“Jello?”

She shook her head.

Peter bit his lip, trying to think of what else he could offer her that they’d have on hand. He remembered being sick at Christmas with strep throat, barely able to eat anything at all, except for one thing. “Chocolate pudding?” he tried. 

She hesitated. “Maaaaaaaybe,” she said, giving him a tiny smile. 

Pepper would definitely not have approved. She also wouldn’t have approved of letting Morgan watch two movies in a row, which Peter one hundred percent planned on doing. But he’d been on his own with the two of them for less than eight hours and he was already exhausted. If chocolate pudding and Pixar movies got them through this, Peter wasn’t going to complain.

“Okay, we can try chocolate pudding,” he said. “Just a little bit to start. You don’t want to throw up chocolate pudding and not like it anymore.”

She looked horrified. “That would be a _tragedy_ ,” she declared dramatically. 

Peter chuckled. “Yep. It’s why I can’t eat fake cinnamon flavored anything now.” He didn’t mention that it was Fireball whiskey that’d done that damage, back in fall semester. That fell under the category of Things She Didn’t Need to Know, Ever. “So do you want to come downstairs with me or stay up here and watch the next movie?”

“Next movie.”

“Okay.” Peter smoothed her hair back and kissed her on the forehead. “But do me a favor and let your dad sleep, okay? He needs it. If you need anything––”

“––tell FRIDAY,” she finished. 

“Exactly.” Peter queued up _Toy Story 2_ and tucked the blanket around her firmly, with Monkmonk at her side, before gathering up a bunch of empty Pedialyte and Gatorade bottles, plus the mugs of tea from earlier, and dragging them back downstairs. 

The soup was front and center in the fridge. It’d defrosted enough that it was easy to dump into a pot on the stove. They did have chocolate pudding, thank God; Peter hadn’t had a back-up plan. He put a tiny bit in a dish, because he seriously didn’t want to end up wearing it if it didn’t go over well. 

“Peter, Ms. Potts is calling,” FRIDAY said, while he was putting his own dinner of frozen mac and cheese in the microwave.

“Put her on speaker, please,” Peter said, giving the soup a stir.

“So,” Pepper greeted him, “just how much are you regretting having agreed to this?”

“I’m not regretting it,” Peter said, which was true. But in the interest of full disclosure he felt he had to add, “I do kind of feel a little in over my head.”

“What happened?”

“Morgan sort of... threw up on me. On both of us. It’s fine, she’s fine, it was just... unexpected.”

“Ouch. I probably should’ve warned you, she’s a puker.”

“So Tony told me. After.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Not great,” Peter admitted. “His fever won’t go down. He’s been sleeping a lot.”

Pepper sighed. “His immune system isn’t stellar, after everything. And it’s been given quite the workout since Morgan started school. She’ll probably be up and about tomorrow, but it’s going to take him longer.”

“Yeah.” Peter frowned as he remembered how sick Tony had looked that afternoon. He’d looked almost as bad as he had in December, when they’d both been taken out by strep.

Pepper was quiet for a moment. “How in over your head do you feel?” she finally asked. “Do you want me to call Happy? Or Bruce?”

Peter kind of did. But it wasn’t more than he could handle, not really. He’d been raised by a nurse, after all. He knew how to do this. Sort of. “No, we’re okay. And I can always call May for advice.”

“And me,” Pepper said. “No matter what time it is here, don’t even hesitate, all right?”

“Okay. How’s London?”

“Gray. Drizzly. Not where I want to be right now.”

Peter winced. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” She cleared her throat. “You think it’ll do more good or more harm for me to talk to Morgan?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, remembering the earlier meltdown. “But I think I told her you’d call and talk to her before bed, so we’d better do it anyway.”

“Okay,” she said, trusting his judgment. “FRIDAY, let me talk to Morgan, all right? And, Peter––thank you.”

Peter was briefly stymied about how to respond, but FRIDAY saved him by sending the call upstairs. If Peter listened closely, he could hear Morgan talking to Pepper. She was probably going to wake Tony up, but he needed to try and get some food into him anyway. 

Tony was awake and on the phone with Pepper when Peter made it back upstairs. He was on his actual phone with her, giving mostly monosyllabic answers, to avoid clueing Morgan into the conversation, Peter assumed. Morgan at least didn’t look as though talking to her mom had upset her. She was watching the movie and leaning against Tony. The only real sign that she wasn’t feeling herself was how quiet she was. She also had her thumb in her mouth, something Peter didn’t think he’d ever seen her do before. 

“Yeah,” Tony said wearily, as Peter came in with his tray full of sick people food. He’d bolted his own dinner of half-heated mac and cheese downstairs. Tony paused, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Yeah, me too.” And then, a little more firmly, “No, Pep. That’s not—no.” He sighed and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Peter, tell Pepper we’re doing okay and she doesn’t need to come back early.”

“We’re doing okay, Pepper,” Peter said, delivering Morgan her dinner of chocolate pudding. He served it to her in a fake crystal dish he’d found with a hilariously tiny spoon that he hoped would encourage her to take very small bites. “You don’t need to come back early. I swear I’ll call May or Happy or Bruce for back-up if I need to.”

“See?” Tony said, putting the phone back up to his ear. “Yeah.” He paused and grimaced. “I will. Sleep well. Love you.”

He disconnected the call. Then he slumped, looking miserable. Peter suspected that Tony probably _wanted_ Pepper to come back early, and he didn’t really blame him. Peter didn’t think he was doing too bad a job, but he wasn’t Pepper. 

Tony looked like he needed a hug, but at the moment Peter was tied up trying to get Morgan to eat her pudding as slowly as possible. That left him with not enough hands to do more than shove Tony’s mug of soup at him. 

“Eat that, and you can have more ibuprofen,” Peter told him.

“It didn’t do much for me this afternoon,” Tony said, but he picked up a spoon anyway. 

Morgan finished her pudding. She shook her head when Peter asked if she wanted anything else, so Peter gave her a dose of children’s Tylenol––the drowsy kind, which Peter desperately hoped would put her out. Peter decided to let it kick in while the movie finished, since he knew that trying to put her to bed before it was over would result in unnecessary screaming. 

“How’re you doing?” Peter asked Tony over the top of Morgan’s head. Her body was getting heavier against Peter’s side. He was really hoping they’d get lucky and she’d just conk out in front of the movie. 

“I’m nauseous,” Tony admitted, dropping his spoon into his mostly full mug of soup. “I know it’s time for more Advil, but I think it’d just come right back up.”

Peter winced and checked his phone. Tony’s temperature had crept upwards even as Morgan’s had dropped with her evening dose of Tylenol. Peter didn’t want to say anything in front of her––he knew that Tony was trying to hold it together so as not to scare her––so he reached over and put his hand on the back of Tony’s neck. He rubbed it gently. Tony sighed and tipped over so his head was resting on Peter’s shoulder

The rest of the movie was an uncharacteristically sedate affair. Peter looked down when the final credits rolled and that Morgan had indeed fallen asleep against him. He eased himself off the bed and picked her up, holding her carefully against his shoulder. It felt like she weighed nothing at all. 

She didn’t so much as stir as Peter tucked her in. He made sure that her night light was on and Monkmonk was next to her before tiptoeing out and closing the door. FRIDAY would let him know if she needed him, but for now he let himself sag in relief. He adored her, but she was exhausting. He hadn’t been even remotely prepared for how hard this was going to be. 

And it wasn’t over yet. He still had Tony to worry about. Tony could at least sort of take care of himself, or at least knew what he should do in theory to take care of himself. But Peter didn’t totally trust him to be upfront about how bad he was feeling or ask for what he needed.

Tony wasn’t in bed when Peter returned from putting Morgan down. The light was on in the bathroom and the door was cracked open. Peter knocked. “Tony?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied. “You can come in.” 

The bathrooms at the lakehouse were positively cozy compared to the ones in the tower or at the compound––still larger than anything Peter was used to, but easy to take in at a glance. Tony was sitting on the floor, slumped over with his head resting on his arm on the edge of the toilet. 

“Well, this doesn’t look great,” Peter said, crouching down next to him. 

“Remember those lizard aliens that showed up in the East River a while back?” Tony murmured without opening his eyes. “The ones with all the teeth?” 

“Feel like one of them chewed you up and spat you out?”

“Half-digested me first.”

Peter chuckled. “That sucks.” Tony gave the smallest possible laugh. “Did you throw up?”

“No,” Tony sighed. “But I feel like I might. This seemed safest.” He opened his eyes and looked up at Peter. “Morgan went to sleep?”

“Out like a light,” Peter confirmed. He stood up and got a washcloth and ran it under the tap. “Your fever keeps going up.”

“I know.”

“That’s kind of starting to worry me.”

Tony sighed. “I think I just need sleep.”

“You slept kind of a lot today,” Peter observed. He folded the washcloth into thirds, just like May always did, and went and sat on the edge of the tub. He pressed the washcloth to the back of Tony’s neck. Tony, tellingly, let him. 

“It wasn’t real sleep,” Tony mumbled. “I need eight solid hours. I’ll be okay.”

“Hmm,” Peter said, deciding it was better not to disagree. Eight solid hours of sleep definitely wouldn’t hurt, even if he doubted that it’d be the cure-all Tony hoped it would be. “I think I saw some ginger ale downstairs, want me to get you some?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Before or after you get off the floor and into bed?”

Tony seemed to think that over. “Before,” he finally decided. “But I think I can probably sit up now.”

Peter helped him slide back so he was sitting wedged into the corner between the wall and the bathtub, head resting on a towel on the edge of the tub, and then ran downstairs for the ginger ale. 

It took Tony close to half an hour just to drink one glass of ginger ale. Peter sat on the floor with him while he did it, shoulder to shoulder, and rambled idly to try and distract him from how lousy he felt. He and Tony talked a lot, so there wasn’t much he didn’t already know about Peter’s life in Cambridge, but it’d been a while since he’d caught him up on what Ned was up to at Columbia, or what MJ was doing out in California at Stanford. 

He didn’t think Tony was paying much attention. He’d been making listening noises whenever Peter paused, but that was about it. But when he finished telling Tony about MJ’s horrible roommate who never showered, Tony said, “So, May and I decided it wasn’t our business, but... are you and MJ still together?”

“Oh,” Peter said awkwardly, “um. Kind of? We talk a lot. I miss her like crazy. But I think she’s been out a couple of times with other people? Mostly not with guys, actually.”

“Oh,” Tony said, sounding less startled than Peter had expected. Maybe he was too exhausted to be startled. “Is that... okay with you?”

“I think so,” Peter said, shrugging. “I think it’d be kind of crazy for us to try and stay together while we’re three thousand miles apart most of the time, and––and I think there’s a lot she didn’t realize about herself until she was out of her parents’ house. They were kind of strict. I don’t want her to give stuff up for me. And we might not––I mean, neither of us wants to get married any time soon, so...”

“That’s... very logical,” Tony said, squinting at him from beneath the washcloth that was draped across his forehead.

Peter shrugged. “We’re together when we’re together, and we’re not when we’re not, and mostly I don’t think about it that much. She was my friend first and my girlfriend second, and we decided years ago that we were always going to be friends.” And he hoped that that was good enough for Tony, because he really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. 

“Hmm. So what about you?” 

“A girl kissed me at a party? But she was kind of drunk, and I think I could’ve been anyone. It was kind of gross, actually.” Peter sighed. “And she wasn’t... she wasn’t MJ. I haven’t met anyone that I like as much as her. Plus, I’m just really busy all the time. And _tired_ ,” he added with a groan. “Really tired.”

“Yeah, I remember that part. Not that it ever stopped me from––well.” Tony cleared his throat. “How much of a monkey wrench is this throwing into your semester?”

“Less than you’d think,” Peter assured him, glad that they were back on solid ground. Not that he minded talking about MJ with Tony, but it was kind of weird. “I did some work today while you and Morgan were asleep.”

Tony looked mollified. He swallowed the last of his ginger ale. “Okay, I think I can do this.” 

Peter helped him to his feet. He didn’t have to actually pick him up off the floor this time, but Tony still leaned heavily on him once he was upright. 

“Oh God. My back wasn’t made for that,” he groaned as they shuffled back into the bedroom. He crawled into bed, and Peter pulled the covers over him. “Thanks, Pete,” he said blearily. 

“No problem.” Peter collapsed onto Pepper’s half with a groan. “I love Morgan, but I am wiped out.”

“I know the feeling.” 

Peter got his phone out and checked it. Morgan was sleeping peacefully, her temperature hovering at 100.9. Tony’s, on the other hand, was nearly a hundred and three. 

“Crap,” he muttered. “Tony, before you fall asleep, you should really take something.”

“Mmm,” Tony mumbled. 

“No, come on,” Peter said, sitting up. “I don’t want you to go to sleep and get worse.” He shook two pills out into his palm and bullied Tony into sitting up. The Pedialyte he’d been drinking earlier was lukewarm now, but it’d wash them down just fine. Tony’s eyes were mostly closed, but he swallowed the pills and let Peter help him lie down again.

Peter hemmed and hawed about going to hang out in his room, but it was downstairs, and it just felt too far away if one of them needed him. In the end, he got a spare blanket from the hall closet and stretched out on Pepper’s side of the bed. He plugged his laptop in and queued up his next lecture. He’d watch this and then do half his problem set for physics, he decided, settling in. That would almost catch him up, and then he wouldn’t have to think about any of it tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly unbeta'd, though Fuzzyboo did give it her blessing. 
> 
> Someone in the comments to the first chapter asked for more angst. I don't know that you understood what I meant when I said this is the fic equivalent of _The Great British Bake-off_. Like, the smidgens of angst in this are on par with "someone accidentally used Harold's custard and felt really super bad about it." There is, like, basically no conflict, or if there is, it is Peter Parker vs. The Flu. 
> 
> (Okay, actually, there is a small amount of genuine angst at the very beginning of this. But the comfort far exceeds the hurt.)
> 
> In other news, I went to a wedding this weekend, and the bride told the groom in her vows, "I love you 3000."

Peter jerked awake abruptly. For a second he didn’t know where he was, but then he saw his laptop on the bed—dark now, the lecture having finished without him—and remembered. And then he heard the sound that must have woken him: Tony, making small, desperate noises in his sleep. He wasn’t moving much; his limbs were twitching a little, almost like muscle spasms. Still, Peter knew a nightmare when he saw one. 

“Tony,” he said in a low voice, kneeling up on the bed. He put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. Holy _crap_ , he was burning up. “Tony, you’re dreaming. Wake up!”

Tony woke up all at once. He gasped, once, twice, then gagged on it, and Peter realized the dream had dropped Tony straight into a panic attack. 

Peter grabbed him under the arms and sat him up against the headboard. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said, grabbing one of Tony’s hands in both of his. Tony hunched in on himself, heaving, and wow, Peter really hoped he wasn’t going to get puked on twice in one day. That would be a _lot_ to deal with, as much as he loved them both. “It’s okay. You’re at the lakehouse, it’s 2025, you’re with me. You’re not––wherever you are.”

Tony wheezed something out. _Titan_. 

_Shit_. Peter knew how prominently Titan and everything that had followed featured in his own nightmares, and he’d been spared remembering what it was like to turn to dust. Peter brought Tony’s hand up and put it on his face. “You’re not on Titan. You brought me back. We won. You brought me back. And now we’re here at the lakehouse. Pepper’s in London, but Morgan is right down the hallway. Breathe with me, all right?” He inhaled, held it, exhaled. Inhaled, held it, exhaled. 

Tony was clearly trying, but he couldn’t get there. Peter had never seen him this bad before, and he thought it was probably the fever. He remembered how strange he’d felt with a fever of a hundred and four, and how everything had felt slightly surreal. He’d been lucky not to have any nightmares while he was in the worst of it, but he could imagine that it would be tough to trust what you thinking and feeling when your brain was basically cooking. 

“Okay, let’s do what you taught me,” Peter said, when the breathing exercises only kind of worked. “Five things you can see, Tony. Go.”

“Y-you,” Tony managed. “Photo of––Morgan. Comforter. Pepper’s s-stupid pillows. Laptop.”

“Good. Four things you can touch.”

“Y-you,” Tony said again, and this time he managed a smile. His hand squeezed Peter’s. “Bed.” He reached out and the found the bottle Peter had left on the nightstand for him. “Gatorade.” He put his hand over his chest, where the nanite casing was. “Pajamas.”

“Good, Tony. Three things you can hear.”

“Lake. Wind.” Tony frowned. “Pulse.”

“Two things you can smell.”

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You.” He sighed. “Home.”

Peter smiled. “One thing you can taste.”

Tony smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and made a face. “I need to brush my teeth.”

“Good enough. You back with me?”

“Yeah,” Tony said shakily. “Sorry, kid. That was... not what you bargained for.”

“You’ve done it for me. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Tony said, swaying forward until Peter caught him. He rested his forehead against Peter’s shoulder, and Peter found himself cradling the back of Tony’s head in his palm, like Tony had done for him so many times. “And like my head is too big.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re burning up. Come on.” He pulled away reluctantly and hauled Tony up with him. Tony whined; Peter ignored him. “We need to get that fever down, and ibuprofen isn’t doing the trick. Bath or shower?”

“Shower,” Tony grumbled. 

“Are you going to fall over and give yourself a concussion?” 

“I’ll sit on the bench,” Tony said as Peter dragged him into the bathroom. He sat him down on the closed lid of the toilet and started the shower running. He tested it with his hand and found it cool but not cold. He nodded in satisfaction. “Can you take it from here?” he asked Tony, side-eyeing the way he was slumping over. 

“Yes, thanks. Now, go away.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Keep an eye on him, FRIDAY, will you?”

“I always do,” she replied. 

Peter left the door cracked open. He sat on the disheveled bed, put his head in his hands, and, just like that afternoon, gave himself exactly two minutes to freak the fuck out, complete with hyperventilating. He only allowed himself that much because he could hear the shower running and there was no way that Tony, with his baseline human hearing, could hear him over it. 

“Okay. Okay,” he said, pulling himself together. He stood up, tugging at his hair. “C’mon, Parker. Get your shit together. What would May do?” he wondered aloud. 

May would fix the bed. May would find clean sheets and clean pillow cases, and make sure that when Tony lay down again in clean pajamas, it wouldn’t be on a sweaty, gross, unmade bed. 

May might also call Pepper. Because May wouldn’t feel like she had to prove she could handle this. 

“Okay,” Peter said. He knew where the linen closet was. He could start there. 

By the time he returned with an armful of fresh linens, he felt like he probably could talk to Pepper without freaking her out. “FRIDAY, call Pepper for me?” he requested as he dumped the linens on a chair and started stripping the bed. It was about a quarter to three, which mean it was nearly eight in London. 

“Peter?” she answered, sounding a little frantic. “Everything okay?”

Whoops. He hadn’t meant to scare her. “Yes, sorry! I mean––no one’s in the hospital or anything.” He took a deep breath and pulled the fitted bottom sheet from the pile of linens. “But, um. Tony’s fever keeps going up, and he had a nightmare and a panic attack, and remember how I said I felt a little in over my head? Now I sort of feel a _lot_ in over my head.”

“I see.” She was quiet for the moment. “How high is his fever right now?”

Peter grabbed his phone. “102.6. Which is lower than it was earlier. He’s in the shower.”

“And what are you doing?” 

“Changing the bed.” Peter tucked in the last corner of the fitted sheet. “Couldn’t think of what else to do.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Maybe I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, Peter, I am absolutely glad that you called,” she said firmly. “I really wish I could be there, but you seem like you’re doing everything right.”

“I’m just trying to keep my head above water,” he admitted. 

“Sometimes, that’s all parenthood is.”

“That’s not––I’m not––”

“You’re standing in for me right now, Peter,” Pepper said gently. “So, yes, you kind of are. Temporarily. Consider it an honorary designation.”

“Um, okay.” Peter stared at the bed. In the bathroom, the water turned off, and only the realization that Tony was going to want a bed to get into very shortly got him moving again. He flipped the top sheet out, leaving it untucked because that was how it had been before, and then spread the comforter out on top of it. 

The door to the bathroom opened, and Tony came out with a towel wrapped around his waist. He wasn’t moving very fast, but Peter thought he looked a little better than he had earlier. “Did I hear Pepper’s voice?” he asked.

“Hi Tony,” Pepper said. “You sound like hell.”

“I’ve been better,” he admitted. “Been worse, too.” He looked at the bed and then at Peter, who was putting fresh pillowcases on all the pillows, one by one. “Kid, you didn’t have to do that.”

Peter shrugged without looking up. “May always does it.”

Tony sat down on the bed. “Could you get me a ginger ale? And maybe check on Morgan?”

Peter nodded. He dropped the last pillow onto the bed and left the room. He peeked into Morgan’s room on his way by, but she was sleeping peacefully, and he didn’t want to risk waking her up. 

Downstairs, he chugged two glasses of water without coming up for air and then ate what was left of the mac and cheese he’d had for dinner, cold, straight out of the fridge, with Sriracha and two turkey dogs he found in the deli drawer and sliced up. It was, objectively, revolting, but it tasted way better than it should have, and afterward, he felt a little less like he was about to lose his mind.

This was probably what May meant when she lectured him about self-care. He poured two glasses of ginger ale, one for himself and one for Tony, before heading back upstairs. 

Tony was dressed in new pajamas and back in bed, sitting up against the headboard. “Thanks,” he murmured when Peter handed him the ginger ale. He submitted with surprising meekness to Peter pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “102.3, according to FRIDAY.”

“Better,” Peter said in relief. 

Tony patted the bed next to him. Peter stretched out and sipped at his own ginger ale. After a few seconds, Tony sighed. “Pepper can’t make it back tomorrow. She has a bunch of meetings she can’t cancel, and dinner with the CEO of a company we’re trying to acquire––it took her months to arrange it. She thinks she can probably come back early on Sunday, instead of in the evening.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “I’m sorry.”

Tony frowned. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because... I know you must really want her here,” Peter replied, frowning back at him. “And I don’t care what she says, I’m a lousy substitute.”

“Pete,” Tony said, and then stopped. “I do want her here,” he continued after a few seconds, “but that wasn’t why we talked about it. It’s a hell of a lot to ask of you, all of this. She and I didn’t realize how much this was going to knock me on my ass. But you’re––you’re doing a great job. Seriously, I have no idea what I would’ve done today without you.”

“Oh,” Peter said, embarrassed. “That’s not––you would’ve been okay.”

“I mean, Morgan and I would’ve survived it, but it wouldn’t have been good. Seriously, kid, you’ve been incredible. Even just now, getting me in the shower, making the bed––c’mere.” Tony tugged at Peter until Peter shifted far enough over that Tony could hug him. “Tomorrow will be easier,” Tony murmured into his hair. 

“Really?” Peter asked, a little skeptically. 

“God, I hope so.” Tony slumped down in the bed. Peter twisted around and helped him get comfortable, then stole one of his extra pillows for himself. He wrapped up in the spare blanket and lay down on his side, facing Tony. Tony yawned. “Morgan’s gonna have more energy. But she probably won’t throw up on you.”

“That is a low bar,” Peter said with a laugh. 

“Hey, after today––”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. He mirrored Tony’s yawn, blinking sleepily. “You need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good, kid. And we should sleep while we can, because Morgan gets up about six.”

Peter groaned. “Okay. Wake me if you need anything.”

“Mmm,” Tony hummed––in, Peter hoped, agreement. 

***

It felt as though Peter had barely shut his eyes when very small hands were touching his face. “Peter?” Morgan whispered. “Are you awake?”

“No,” Peter whispered back. She giggled, very quietly. “S’too early, come up here, kiddo.” 

She climbed up. Peter kept her on the opposite side from Tony, so she wouldn’t disturb him. 

“Can you sleep a little longer?” Peter asked, without opening his eyes. “Just a little bit longer?”

“No,” she said, and yawned. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Peter agreed drowsily. He tucked her head under his chin and fell back to sleep.

***

The second time Morgan woke him, by tapping ever so gently on his face from about an inch and a half away, Peter knew he wasn’t going to get her back to sleep. “Hey kiddo,” he whispered, hoping they might at least lie there a bit longer. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all. 

“Hi.”

“You feeling better?”

She nodded. “I’m hungry.”

“We can do something about that.” He yawned. “In five minutes?”

She sighed. “O-kay.”

“Figure out what you want,” Peter told her, closing his eyes. 

“Oatmeal.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “With cherries. And chocolate chips.”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Is that a thing?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she said indignantly. 

“Okay.” Peter gave up on his five more minutes and sat up. “Want a ride?”

“Yes, please.” She scrambled up and stood on the mattress. Peter stood with his back to her, and she jumped up and grabbed him around the neck, almost strangling him. He gasped and grabbed her around the legs, hooking his arms around them so she wasn’t actually hanging from his throat. She giggled. “Breakfast!”

“Shh, your dad’s sleeping.” Probably not anymore, but maybe he’d fall back to sleep for an hour or two. Peter grabbed Monkmonk off the bed and trotted downstairs. 

Peter made breakfast with Morgan clinging to his back like a little monkey, offering constructive criticism over his shoulder— _not enough chocolate chips; cherries, not raisins, raisins are gross; brown sugar and cinnamon, too, please_ —and a never-ending stream of commentary that Peter had to admit he only followed about sixty percent of. 

_More energy_ , Tony had said. No shit.

“Okay,” Peter said, when Morgan’s bowl of oatmeal was assembled to her exact specifications (though he’d put his foot down at adding any more sugar, because he didn’t want Pepper to murder him). “Want to eat breakfast in front of the TV?”

“Really?” she said, disbelieving. 

“Sure,” Peter replied. He hitched her up a couple inches and grabbed her breakfast and his coffee. “What do you want to watch?”

“PUFFINS!” she shouted. 

Peter almost dropped her. “Morgan! Super hearing!”

“Sorry!” She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Puffins.”

“Better, thanks.” Peter deposited her on the sofa. “FRI, you know what she’s talking about?”

“Yes, Peter.” The TV turned on and queued up a show about—well, about animated puffins. With Irish accents. Okay, then.

Peter made himself a bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon and brown sugar—plus dried cherries, because he had to admit, that sounded pretty good—and settled on the sofa with Morgan to watch an episode of the Irish puffins.

It looked warm on their island, he thought wistfully. It was March but not spring at the lake house yet, or in Cambridge, for that matter. It was very gray out, the water the color of slate and almost an exact match for the sky. Not a bad day to stay inside and eat oatmeal and watch movies, but Peter wasn’t sure how long Morgan was going to put up with the inactivity. Even if Tony hadn’t been sick, she wasn’t completely recovered yet herself; she was still running a fever, according to FRIDAY, albeit a pretty low one. 

Maybe what this situation called for was some light emotional manipulation.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said between episodes. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but I think your dad’s gonna need a quiet day. Can you help me take care of him?”

She frowned. “When’s Mommy getting home?”

“Tomorrow sometime. We’re on our own until then. So you’ll help me?”

She nodded, dark eyes very serious. “Can we make him Jello?”

Peter doubted that Tony was going to want Jello, but she looked so hopeful. And it wasn’t like it’d go to waste. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s see if you guys have any.”

They did—raspberry, probably leftover from Pepper making it for Peter back in December. He got an idea looking at the jar of applesauce that Pepper had left for them that they hadn’t touched yet. He opened the freezer and found two bags of frozen berries. Jackpot. “Hey, can we do something a little different with the Jello?” he asked Morgan. “May used to make this thing she called ‘raspberry stuff’ when I was your age. I bet you’ll like it.”

“Okay,” she said, curiously. She sat on the counter and watched as he poured the applesauce into a small pot and brought it to a boil. He let her pour the Jello powder in carefully and gave it a stir. He took it off the heat. 

“Now the frozen raspberries,” he said, and each of them dumped a bag into the pot of applesauce and Jello. The mixture was bright red and shiny, like rubies, and he could almost _see_ her thinking about shoving her whole hand into it. Peter whisked it off the stove and poured it into a glass dish before she had time to put theory into disastrous practice. He put it in the fridge. “Now we wait,” he told her. “Want to watch some more puffins while I check on your dad?”

She nodded and hopped down off the counter without waiting for him. She jumped onto the sofa and curled up in a ball in the corner of it, Monkmonk in one arm. 

Peter made another bowl of oatmeal without any of the mix-ins, plus a mug of tea, then carried everything upstairs on a tray. Hopefully he had at least until the end of the episode before Morgan got bored and came looking for them. 

Tony was climbing back into bed when Peter came in. He looked a little less wiped out than yesterday, but still really pale and tired. According to FRIDAY, his temperature was just over 102. He hadn’t had any more nightmares that Peter was aware of, but he also didn’t look like he’d slept very well. 

He stared at the oatmeal with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. 

“I can make you something else,” Peter offered. “It’s just what Morgan wanted.”

“No, it’s fine.” 

“How are you feeling?” Peter asked, setting the tray on the bed. 

Tony rubbed his forehead. “You know how Manhattan is constantly covered in a fine layer of pigeon poop, garbage juice, and dog urine?”

Peter snorted out a laugh as he sat on the bed. “Yeah.”

“And you know how in August, it heats up and gives off that very special eau de Midtown?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel like that.”

Peter frowned. “That’s... descriptive.” And worrying.

“I’ve been awake a while. I had time to come up with the specific brand of _absolute shit_ I feel like right now.”

Peter sighed. “I was hoping you’d go back to sleep after we went downstairs.”

“I didn’t really get back to sleep after my nightmare,” Tony admitted. 

“Seriously?” 

“Might’ve dozed. I have a hard time getting back to sleep when I wake up like that. Which is miserable, because panic attacks make me feel awful even when I don’t have the flu.”

“You should’ve woken me up.”

Tony shrugged. “Then we’d both be zombies today, and someone has to watch Morgan.”

Peter had to admit that Tony was right. He was quiet for a while, watching Tony pick his way through the bowl of oatmeal. “So... feel free to tell me to jump out the window, but I think you could use a change in scenery,” Peter finally said. “We can do what we did when we were both sick in December—pull the couch out and have a slumber party. If Morgan’s too much you can always come back upstairs.”

Tony moved oatmeal around in his bowl for a few seconds. “Okay.”

“Really?” Peter said, a little surprised that he hadn’t had to cajole Tony more than that.

“I’ve been in here going on three days and I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling. I’m ready to be somewhere else. Plus,” he added, looking up at Peter, “I know it’ll make your life easier.”

“Hey, no, don’t worry about that.”

Tony smiled wanly. “Sorry, can’t help myself. Occupational hazard.”

He didn’t say which of his numerous occupations he was referring to, but Peter knew anyway.

***

It turned out that light emotional manipulation worked extremely well on Morgan. She had traipsed upstairs while Peter was making up the sofa bed and come back with a pillowcase full of her favorite stuffed animals, which she proceeded to meticulously arrange on the pullout. Then she had to rearrange them once Tony came down and it turned out there wasn’t any room on the bed for him. 

It was possible that Peter hung back and filmed the entire thing on his phone for Pepper, while Tony mostly looked bemused as she tucked him in with her menagerie. She climbed up last and pushed an elephant and a sheep gently aside so she could settle in, with Monkmonk in her own arms. “There,” she said, with great satisfaction. 

“Good job, kiddo,” Peter said. He pulled an armchair closer and kicked his bare feet up on the bed. “How you doing there, Tony?”

“Great,” Tony said. “Very... cozy.” He wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable without dislodging any of the toys. Peter stifled a laugh and took another photo for Pepper. 

“You can pick the movie, Daddy,” Morgan said magnanimously. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Tony said, leaning over to rest his cheek on top of her head. “But I think I might just fall asleep, so it’s okay if you and Peter choose it.”

“Actually, I had an idea for a movie,” Peter said. “It’s not one you’ve seen before, kiddo. May and I used to watch it together a lot when I was about your age. And I think your dad will really like it.”

For a second, she looked like she was thinking about arguing—Morgan had about five movies she liked to rotate between, and getting her to expand her repertoire was challenging, to say the least—but then she glanced up at Tony and then back at Peter. “Okay,” she said. “And maybe later we can watch _Dory_?”

“And later we can watch _Dory_ ,” Peter confirmed. “FRI, can you put on _The Emperor’s New Groove_?” Tony gave him a dubious look. “It’s the most underrated Disney film of the post- _Lion King_ era!” Peter insisted. 

“If you say so, kid.”

“Ugh. Just shut up and watch it, all right?”

“Peter!” Morgan said, scandalized. “You told Daddy to shut up!”

Peter blinked. “Yeah, but not really,” he started, only to realize there was probably no use in trying to explain to her what he’d meant. And Tony was smirking at him, because he knew that Peter was realizing there was no use. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry, Tony. I meant that you should watch the movie before you make up your mind.”

“Apology accepted,” Tony said, still smirking at him. Peter tried really hard to be annoyed, but it was hard when this was the most _Tony_ he’d acted since Peter had arrived at the lake house. 

Morgan quieted as the movie began. Once she seemed thoroughly sucked in, Peter very carefully moved enough of the stuffed animals off to the side for him to sit on the bed. Tony was curled around Morgan, and Peter ended up sort of curled around him, but sitting up. He draped one arm loosely over Tony’s shoulder and rested his hand against his bicep. He swept his thumb back and forth and tried to think nice, calm soothing thoughts. 

About fifteen minutes into the movie, just about the time the emperor was getting transformed into a llama, Peter looked down and noticed two things.

The first was that Morgan was very carefully stroking Tony’s hair. Just sort of smoothing the hair behind Tony’s ear over and over again, probably like he had done for her a thousand times in her very short life. 

The second was that Tony had his eyes closed but he wasn’t asleep. There were shining tear tracks from the corners of his eyes to the hair at his temples. He was keeping his breathing very even, but Peter could hear it hitch every three or four breaths.

The worst thing to do, Peter knew, was to let on that he’d seen. He didn’t think they were tears of pain; he suspected that Tony was just exhausted and feverish and overwhelmed. Tony had always shouldered the bad things, the hard things, without flinching, but good things, comforting things, made him run in the other direction. Being forced to just accept it was probably a lot for him, especially in his current state. 

Peter didn’t say anything, and Morgan didn’t notice, and eventually Tony actually did fall asleep. Peter knew he and Tony would never talk about it. He also knew they didn’t need to. 

Morgan dozed off, too, about an hour into the movie; it was early for her nap—which, in Peter’s experience was more miss than hit most days—and it confirmed for him that despite the increase in energy, she was still recovering. Peter let the movie keep playing but went upstairs to get his laptop. He settled himself in the armchair by the pull-out again again, where he could look up and see both of them, and half-watch the movie, and look out at the gray lake through the big picture windows. He couldn’t resist taking one more photo of the two of them to text to Pepper, with the caption, _Your kid is killing me._

 _With cuteness, I assume,_ she responded after a few seconds. _Because I watched that video on silent in a meeting and almost died._

_Mostly. Everyone’s doing better today._

_I’m glad to hear it. How are you holding up?_

_Okay. Tired._

_I should be home by tomorrow midday_ , she replied. _Can you stay until Monday?_

He probably shouldn’t. He had class at noon on Mondays, and despite his best efforts, he was going to be behind. But the idea of staying over and letting Pepper mother him a little was kind of nice, after everything. Plus, the chances of him sleeping well were always higher at the lake house than anywhere else. It was so quiet, and it had always felt so safe to him. 

_Yeah_ , he finally wrote to her, _I’ll have to drive back early Monday morning, but I can stay over._

_Wonderful. Keep sending pics._

_They’re not a distraction?_

_They’re totally a distraction. That’s the point._

Pepper signed off with three cat face with heart-eyes emojis. Peter grinned and turned back to his problem set for physics. 

He was nearly finished when Morgan woke up, cranky and disoriented and slightly feverish again. Peter gave her Tylenol and carried her upstairs to sit with her in the rocking chair. She kept sniffling, a little miserable, but by the time they’d read two _Curious George_ books and two _Pigeon_ books (which Peter suspected he liked more than she did, but she humored him), the medicine had kicked in. 

“Feeling better?” he asked her, still rocking them slowly. 

“Yeah. M’hungry.”

“Want some of the raspberry stuff?” 

Morgan nodded. 

“And then maybe after lunch we can get you a bath.”

“With a bath bomb?” 

“Sure, snuggle bug.” Peter pulled her closer, and she buried her face at the base of his throat. His breath caught in his throat as he was briefly overwhelmed with affection for her. “Whatever you want.”

Tony woke up in time for lunch. Peter heated up soup for him, which Morgan wouldn’t touch, but she did eat an entire bowl of the raspberry stuff. Peter took a photo of her eating it and sent it to May. _Your raspberry stuff is saving my ass_ , he told her. 

Her response was near-instantaneous. _The only thing I’ve ever made that you actually liked._

 _Not true_ , he told her. _You make a mean frozen pizza._

_Haha. You think you’re funny. How are things? You need back-up?_

Peter glanced up. Tony and Morgan were sitting together on the pull-out. There was another episode of Morgan’s puffins show playing. To Peter’s amusement, Tony was watching it, or at least he was staring blankly at it while he ate his soup. 

_We’re doing okay. But thanks for asking._

***

After lunch, Peter took Morgan back upstairs for a bath. That wasn’t something he’d done for her before, though he’d hung out with her and Tony a few times while he gave her a bath. She selected bath bomb shaped like a yellow submarine from the plastic bin full of them that Peter found under the sink. It turned the water a shimmery yellow and made everything smell like vanilla and roses. It was honestly a little much for Peter’s over-sensitive nose, but it seemed to cheer her up. 

She had an entire flotilla of bath toys that she played with, muttering to herself, while Peter sat by the tub and tried not to fall asleep. The room was warm with steam from the bath, and everything was starting to catch up with him. He leaned his head back, listening idly to the drama playing out between Morgan’s dolphin and her sea lion.

A splash of water and suddenly Peter was very wet. And smelled like roses. “Gah,” he said, blinking. “What was that for?”

“You were _falling asleep_ ,” she scolded him. 

“No, I wasn’t,” Peter denied. 

Morgan looked dubious. 

“Well, maybe I was,” Peter admitted with a grimace. Some baby-sitter he was. _Don’t fall asleep with the kid in the bath_ had to be Rule #1 of childcare. “Sorry, kiddo. It’s been a long couple of days. You pruney yet?” She held up her hands to prove that she was, indeed, very pruney. “Okay, let’s wash your hair and get you out.”

Her bathrobe had a hood and bear ears. He wrapped her in it and sat her on the closed toilet so he could deal with her hair. He didn’t bother to dry it, but he did run a comb through it, carefully detangling a couple of snarls, and then gave braiding it a shot. A not terribly successful shot, he had to concede, judging by the results, but it wasn’t like they were planning on leaving the house today. 

Tony appeared in the doorway to the bathroom just as Peter was tying off Morgan’s lopsided braid. “All clean, baby bear?” he asked Morgan. 

She nodded. “Peter’s tired,” she told him. 

“And wet,” Tony observed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Just a little,” Peter said wryly. He was soaked down his front. She’d really nailed him. “You need anything?”

“I was going to take a shower myself,” Tony replied. “A real one, wash my hair, maybe even shave. Give me half an hour and I can spell you so you can do the same?”

Peter thought about arguing, but if Tony was feeling well enough to think about shaving, then he was probably okay to keep an eye on Morgan while Peter took a shower. And he knew from two semesters at college that sometimes a shower was almost as good as the four or five hours of sleep you didn’t get the night before. Almost. 

In this case, taking a shower didn’t help as much as Peter had hoped it would. He spent a couple minutes with the water just pounding onto his back before scrubbing up. Clean sweats and a clean t-shirt helped some, as did sitting for a minute or two on the end of his bed, breathing carefully. By the time he left his room again, he felt marginally more human. But he’d been hoping that it would give him a burst of energy, and on that front, he was disappointed. If anything, being clean and warm made him even more drowsy. 

In the living room, Morgan was sacked out under the now-clean _Moana_ comforter, her head in Tony’s lap. Peter dropped into the armchair and put his bare feet up on the mattress. 

“You doing okay, kid?” Tony asked him. 

Peter shrugged. “I’m fine. You need anything? You should have something to drink. And more Advil.”

“I will if you will.”. 

“Sure,” Peter said with a shrug.

He came back, glass of ginger ale in each hand, to find Tony flipping through the streaming offerings. “You want to watch something not made by Disney?” Tony asked. “She’s out like a light.”

“Pick whatever you’d like,” Peter said, settling back into his armchair. “I need to work.”

Tony frowned at him again. “Kid...”

“I _do_ ,” Peter insisted, annoyed, though not really at Tony. He would’ve liked to press pause on his semester for the weekend, but that wasn’t how college worked. 

“I’m sure you do, but you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m okay,” Peter says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He had a low grade headache, but that wasn’t a good enough excuse not to work. “I’m almost done with my problem set for physics. I should do my reading for philo, but it’s okay if I don’t it do it before lecture on Monday, he never cold calls people.”

Tony looked satisfied. Peter sat at the kitchen island and blew through the last two problems as quickly as possible. He checked the text thread he had going with his lab partners and saw that Lizzie had already posted her answers; Peter checked them against his and nodded. _Got the same!_ he wrote and put his phone away. 

Tony had chosen _The Force Awakens_. “Still made by Disney,” Peter pointed out, stretching out next to Tony on the sofa bed.

“Don’t remind me,” Tony muttered. “I almost put in a bid myself when I heard Lucas was selling the rights, but Pepper wouldn’t let me. _You can’t just buy the rights to a major movie franchise, Tony! You don’t even own a production company!_ I tried to tell her I’d buy one of those, too, but she wasn’t convinced.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Funny, those were Pepper’s exact words.”

Peter tried to laugh and ended up yawning halfway through. Tony shot him a knowing look. “I’m not gonna fall asleep,” Peter said. 

“Sure, kid.”

“But if I do, don’t let me sleep too long.”

“No promises.”

“Tony...”

“Take a goddamn nap, kid. I plan to.”

“But Morgan...” Peter protested half heartedly.

“Will wake us up if she needs to. Believe me.”

“Okay,” Peter says, giving in. He rested his head on Tony’s shoulder, feeling, for almost the first time since he’d arrived at the house yesterday, as though he and Tony were back on familiar ground. Peter didn’t mind taking care of him and Morgan; that was what family did, and if there had once been a time when Peter would’ve hesitated to apply that word to himself and Tony, then it was long gone. But he couldn’t deny that it was a little weird to be the one taking care of Tony, when it had so often been the other way around. 

_That’s called growing up, kiddo_ , he could almost hear May saying to him. And he guessed that that was true. But he wasn’t quite ready for it yet. And he thought, as Tony brushed his hair back from his forehead, that maybe he wasn’t either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Raspberry stuff" was 100% a staple of my childhood (though it was/is called "raspberry salad" in my family). My paternal grandmother was about as proficient in the kitchen as Aunt May, but man, that stuff is delicious. I still bring it to potlucks, where it disappears every time. 
> 
> There is now [wonderful art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888997) for this chapter of Morgan and Tony by TheGracefulBlueCat. Thanks so much!
> 
> Thanks for reading, darlings. Feel free to tip your writer with a comment or a kudos.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is stuff in here that I probably could have foreshadowed a little better in earlier chapters, but such is the risk you run by posting as you write! Thanks for Fuzzyboo for the beta read. 
> 
> This was a fun one. I feel like I should write something other than blatant id-fic eventually, but I also don't want to.

Peter woke to Tony and Morgan’s voices, quiet and close-by—sitting on the foot of the pullout, Peter thought. Neither of them seemed distressed, so he let himself lie with his eyes closed, eking out just a few more minutes before letting them know he was awake. 

“—six and seven together is how many?”

“Thirteen.”

“Good job. So do you want to hold or draw?”

“Draw!”

“Okay. What’d you get?”

“A six. So that’s... nineteen.”

“Good job. Hold or draw?”

“Hold.”

“And I have a jack and a three, so I’m going to draw—a five.”

“That’s eighteen. Do I win?”

“Hang on, kiddo. I’m going to draw again—dammit.”

“Eighteen and six is twenty-four! That’s too many, Daddy. _Now_ do I win?”

“Yep, now you win, you little card shark. Collect your spoils.”

Peter opened his eyes. “Tony. Does Pepper know you’re teaching Morgan how to play Blackjack?”

“There are lots of things Pepper doesn’t know,” Tony said. “But in this case—yes, she knows. It’s good for her math skills.”

“Uh huh,” Peter said, sitting up. The two of them were apparently playing for cough drops, which wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Morgan was shoving one of her cherry-flavored winnings in her mouth. “How long did I sleep?”

“A few hours,” Tony said. 

It was almost dark out. Peter reached for his phone, checking the time—just after six—and their temperatures—100.4 for Morgan, 101.3 for Tony. “You guys feeling better?” he asked. 

“Yep!” Morgan said. 

“Somewhat,” Tony said. 

Peter squinted at him and decided he was probably telling the truth. “Who’s hungry?”

“Me! Can we have pizza?” Morgan asked. 

“No,” Tony and Peter answered together. 

She pouted. “Why not?”

“Because twenty-four hours ago, you threw up on me,” Peter said. “That’s why. But if you’re sick of soup—"

“Sooooooo sick of soup,” she moaned, collapsing dramatically across Tony.

“—I can make pasta.”

“With butter and cheese?” she asked hopefully. 

“With butter and cheese,” he agreed. “Tony? That sound okay?”

“Hold the cheese on mine, not sure I’m ready for it. But yeah, Pete, that sounds great.” 

The first time Peter had made pasta with butter and cheese for Morgan, he hadn’t realized that it’d been as much a staple of Tony’s childhood as it had been of his own. Ben and May had both been indifferent cooks, and they hadn’t had a lot of money, so Peter had eaten pasta with butter and cheese and sometimes—if Ben was feeling fancy—crispy fried sage probably three times a week when he was a kid. 

The first time he’d made it for Morgan, Tony had blinked a lot, gone very quiet, and finally said, “My mom used to make that all the time for me.”

Since then, almost any time Peter found himself in charge of dinner, he made pasta with butter and cheese. If Pepper was home, she insisted on a vegetable or a salad to go with it. If she wasn’t, they ate it on its own. 

It only took about twenty minutes to make. Peter dished it up into bowls and they ate in the living room again, slurping noodles to the soundtrack of _Finding Dory_ , because Peter had promised Morgan earlier in the day and Morgan never forgot a promise. 

She was still wide awake when the movie was over. Peter gave her a dose of night time cough medicine, both for the low grade fever and in the hopes that it would make her drowsy. Tony volunteered to read to her, so Peter gave her a hug and a kiss good night. “I love you three thousand,” she whispered in his ear.

“I love you _four_ thousand,” he whispered back, and she grinned. He kissed the top of her head and let her go. The two of them climbed the stairs, taking Morgan’s stuffed animal menagerie with them, and Peter turned his attention to the complete mess they’d made of the living room and kitchen. 

He had no business being this tired, he thought, elbow-deep in dish suds. He’d had a three hour nap in the middle of the afternoon. He hadn’t done anything except lie around with Tony and Morgan and do his homework, and yet all he could think about was crashing. 

By the time the kitchen was clean and the living room more or less back to a state that wouldn’t appall Pepper, it was nearly nine o’clock. Peter hadn’t heard anything from upstairs in about half an hour, which he hoped meant that Tony had been successful in getting Morgan to go down. He dished up two servings of raspberry stuff and grabbed his philo reading. “Hit the lights downstairs, FRI,” he said as he dragged himself up the stairs. The living room and kitchen went dark. 

The lights in Morgan’s room were off when he passed, though her arc reactor night light glowed reassuringly. Peter continued past it to Tony and Pepper’s room. Tony was in the en-suite, but Peter put the bowls on Pepper’s nightstand and stretched out on her side of the bed with _A Critique of Pure Reason_ and a yellow highlighter. 

“Hey kid,” Tony said, coming out of the bathroom. He’d changed his pajamas again. “Thought you might be crashing in your own room tonight.”

“Oh,” Peter said, suddenly hesitant. “I—I guess that makes sense. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think—“

“Hey, no, it’s okay with me,” Tony said. “I don’t think I’ll sleep right away anyway. Gonna see if my brain is functional enough to answer some emails. My inbox is a horror show.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Peter said, relaxing slightly. 

“You’re one to talk. Kant? Really?”

“It’s great bedtime reading,” Peter said wryly. “Puts me out like a light.”

Tony snorted. “I bet. What’s this?” he added, when Peter handed him a bowl of raspberry stuff. 

“Applesauce, raspberry Jello, and raspberries.”

“So, pure sugar.”

“Basically.” Peter shoved a spoonful in his mouth and opened up the book. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tony said, after a few seconds. He sounded like his mouth was full, and Peter looked up to see him staring in bemusement at the bowl. “Nothing involving Jello should ever be this delicious.”

“Glad you like it, because it might be Morgan’s new favorite thing.”

“Ugh. I’m blaming you when Pepper finds out. She likes you better anyway.”

“Feel free,” Peter said. He had the feeling he’d be in Pepper’s good books for a while after this. 

The two of them settled in, working amicably side by side. Peter kept one ear out for noise from Morgan’s room, but she stayed quiet. He forced himself through a section of Kant, but realized at the end of it that he had even less of an idea than usual what it was about. His head was pounding.

“How’s the email?” he asked Tony. 

“Headache-inducing,” Tony replied, and tossed his tablet aside with a groan. “How’s Kant?”

“Same.” Peter passed him the bottle of Advil and watched with envy as Tony swallowed two. None of it would work on him, of course. 

The two of them sat in silence for a while, neither of them making a move to start working again. “You know what Pepper would say if she were here,” Tony said finally said. 

“Just go the fuck to sleep?” 

“Something like that. What do you say?”

Peter sighed. He should work, but the truth was that he could hardly hold his eyes open. “Yeah. Okay. Do you––you’d probably be more comfortable if you had the bed to yourself,” he said, hating himself a little for how he was fishing. 

Tony shrugged. “It’s a big enough bed, I hardly noticed you last night. Probably a good idea for you to stay upstairs in case Morgan needs you in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, trying not to sound too happy about it. “Probably.”

He washed up in Tony’s en-suite, using a new toothbrush instead of making the trek downstairs to his own bathroom. He collapsed into bed utterly exhausted and rolled himself up in the blanket he’d used the night before. Despite being his excuse for staying, he really hoped Morgan didn’t need him in the middle of the night. 

“Lights, FRI,” he heard Tony say. “G’night, kid.”

“G’night, Tony,” Peter mumbled and fell straight to sleep. 

***

Peter had been prone to nightmares long before he was Spiderman. He couldn’t begin to guess the number of nights he’d stumbled from his bed and crawled in with May and Ben, tears still drying on his face––from dreaming of a plane crash he hadn’t actually witnessed, or being lost in a crowd and searching and searching and searching for his parents, unable to find them and knowing, somehow, that he never would.

Once he became Spiderman, the nightmares diversified. There was Ben, of course; Peter was always too late. Sometimes May was there, and he lost her, too. Later, there was being crushed by a building, the feeling that he couldn’t breathe and couldn’t call for help. 

He didn’t remember getting dusted, not even enough to dream about it. He didn’t remember his time in the Soul Stone at all. None of that was nightmare-fodder, at least not for him. Instead, he dreamed about something that _hadn’t_ happened. 

He dreamed that instead of Carol, Tony had worn the gauntlet. And that it had killed him. 

Peter had had that dream at least twice a week for months after the battle with Thanos. It’d gotten rarer recently, which was probably good for his sanity. It was easy enough for him to confirm that Tony was alive; all he had to do was reach for his phone and see their text thread from the previous day. Sometimes, if he was especially shaken up, he called him. Tony always picked up for him, even in the middle of the night. So it was easy to reassure himself. But that didn’t make it less awful in the moment. 

Peter had never told Tony. It felt like tempting fate to tell him about the dream. It hadn’t happened and wouldn’t happen, but it felt horrifically plausible. And Tony wasn’t enhanced, he was just a standard-issue human. Carol and Bruce had barely survived using the gauntlet; Tony would not have, Peter was sure. 

Tonight’s dream was especially vivid. Peter could smell the smoke and the ozone in the air, he could feel the heat from the flames. All the hair on the back of his neck was standing up, his sense that something terrible was about to happen was _screaming_ at him, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He was never able to stop it, just like he was never able to save Ben or find his parents. 

_Peter._

“I am Iron Man!”

_Peter, wake up!_

Peter jerked awake. Tony was leaning over him. He was in Tony and Pepper’s room at the lake house, miles away from the compound, years away from that battlefield. 

“Hey, Pete, you’re all right. Breathe, okay?”

Peter nodded, gulping air. Tony helped him sit up against the headboard and handed him a glass of ginger ale watered down by melted ice. He took a couple of sips. He couldn’t take his eyes off Tony––Tony, who was frowning and pressing his hand against Peter’s forehead. 

“Shit,” Tony said. “FRI, what’s Peter’s temperature?”

“101.2, boss,” FRIDAY said. 

Peter blinked in confusion. He usually ran a little cold. “What?”

“Yeah, sorry, kid,” Tony said. “Looks like you caught our flu.”

“I... did?” Peter said, bewildered. 

Tony looked sympathetic. “That nightmare must’ve been a doozy. You want to talk about it?”

Peter shook his head, looking away. 

“Are you sure?” Tony asked. “I heard... you said my name.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, voice rough. He swallowed; it hurt, though not as bad as it had when he’d had strep. “It didn’t happen. What I was dreaming about didn’t happen.”

Tony was quiet, watching him. “Does this have anything to do with why you occasionally call me in the middle of the night for no particular reason?”

“Maybe,” Peter muttered. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Tony brushed the hair back from Peter’s face. Peter glanced up and could see the moment he decided to let it go––for now, anyway. “How’re you feeling?”

“Not great,” Peter admitted. He’d had a headache when he’d gone to sleep, but now he had that weird, overly sensitive, achy feeling to go with it. And he was chilled. “I think I need another blanket.”

“Or you could just get under the covers. Don’t know why you insist on sleeping on top of them, anyway. Come on.” Tony started tugging at them. He let out an annoyed sound and got up, coming around the bed to physically pull them out from under Peter and start tucking him in. “There you go,” he said, pulling the blankets up to Peter’s chin. 

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled. Tony crawled back into bed on his other side and held his arm out in invitation. Peter thought about resisting, but the truth was that he felt pretty awful, was feeling worse by the minute, and kind of wanted someone to coddle him. He felt like he shouldn’t be making Tony do it, since he was still sort of sick himself, but Tony was offering, and Peter couldn’t bring himself to say no. 

“Ah, kid,” Tony murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Peter mumbled into Tony’s chest. This was really nice, he had to admit. 

“You’re not driving back tomorrow if you’re sick.”

“I was going to stay over until Monday anyway,” Peter said sleepily. He was feeling a lot warmer, at least. “Drive back early.”

“Mmm. We’ll see,” Tony said. “This thing took out Morgan for two, almost three days. Took me out for three, going on four. You’re not driving three hours back to Cambridge if you’re still sick on Monday.”

Peter was too tired to fight about it. “Might be okay by then.”

“True,” Tony conceded. “Guess it’s not worth arguing about now. You think you can sleep?”

Peter was already mostly asleep. “Yeah.”

“Good. Wake me up if you need anything. Lights, FRI.” The room went dark. 

Peter closed his eyes. It usually took him a while to get back to sleep after a nightmare, with all the adrenaline fizzing in his blood, but the sound of Tony’s heart beating steadily beneath his ear was enough to dissipate his memory of the dream and send him to sleep. 

This time, he didn’t dream at all.

***

He woke, overheated and sweating, with Morgan glued to one side and Tony glued to the other. He fought his way free of the blankets enough to stick one foot out. He felt like—well, Tony’s hot garbage analogy from the day before was accurate enough. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry and he felt like he might throw up, which was a problem, because he couldn’t really move. He’d felt safe with Tony holding him the night before, but now he just felt _hot_. 

He was so uncomfortable that it took him a minute to realize that the sound of a car in the driveway had been what had actually woken him. Peter went still, honing his super hearing until he heard a key in the lock downstairs and familiar footsteps in the foyer, followed by the sound of a small roller suitcase, and Pepper’s familiar sigh as she took off her coat. 

Peter relaxed all at once. Pepper was home. _Thank God_. 

He was still lying trapped under both his sleeping companions when she appeared in the doorway. She took in the scene with a sympathetic smile, which turned to a frown when she got a closer look at him. 

“Are you okay?” she whispered. 

“Not really,” Peter whispered back. “Can you move Morgan?”

She nodded and carefully picked Morgan up. Morgan stirred but didn’t wake. Peter sat up and slid to the edge of the bed, slumping over. Pepper knelt on the bed with one knee to resettle Morgan closer to Tony. Then she stood up and surveyed Peter.

“Uh oh,” she said. “Not you, too?”

“Yeah, since last night,” Peter said, looking up at her ruefully. “How was your trip?”

“Successful. I cut it a little short to get back here a few hours early. I'm glad I did.”

“Me too,” Peter admitted. 

Pepper smiled at him. “I'm sorry you're sick, but you did a great job taking care of them. Now it's our turn. Well, my turn, really.”

Peter smiled weakly at her. “I won’t say no.”

“Good. Saves us both the argument. Want me to help you downstairs so you can sleep in your own bed?”

“Please,” Peter sighed. 

It was such a relief to have Pepper there. She got him downstairs and into his bed in short order, tucking him in with brisk efficiency. Peter was worn out from being on his feet for less than five minutes, and he curled up gratefully under his comforter. She brought him a glass of water and an extra pillow to prop him up a little higher, since he was feeling congested. 

“Thank you,” Peter said, finally relaxing. 

“Don’t thank me,” Pepper said. “I could take care of you for the next week, and I’d still owe you.”

Peter hummed in response. He really hoped that this didn’t last a whole week. It wasn’t likely, given that Tony and Morgan had both been on the mend within three days, but it reminded him of just how much work he had to do, and how much more waited for him back on campus, whenever he got there. He’d planned on working more today, and now he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen. His brain felt like mush.

On the other hand––he had _so much work_. Midterms were rapidly approaching, and he had a paper due for philo on Friday, and he couldn’t ask his lab partner in chem to cover for him _again_. 

“Hey kiddo, you okay?” Pepper asked. 

“Yeah, just thinking about how much work I have.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

“It’ll wait.”

“It kind of won’t at this point. That’s the problem.”

“Do you need to ask for an extension on anything?” Pepper asked, sitting on the bed. 

Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head was pounding. “Maybe my paper for my philosophy class. It’s due Friday. The reading for it is really dense, I haven’t been able to get through much of it.”

“Okay.” Pepper reached out and rubbed his foot. “Sleep a little more, and I’ll help you write to your professor later. And we can triage your other assignments and see if there’s anything else you can ask for a few extra days on.”

Peter took a deep breath, feeling his incipient panic dissipate just like that. “Thanks, Pepper.”

“No problem, kiddo. Let me know if you need anything.” She squeezed his foot one last time and got up to let herself out, leaving the door cracked behind her. He heard her climb the stairs back up to the second floor, and then, faintly, Morgan exclaiming, “Mommy!”

Peter smiled to himself, snuggled down in his pillows, and let himself fall back to sleep. 

The house was very quiet when he awoke. For a second or two, Peter thought he was alone, but then he realized that Tony was sitting on the unoccupied half of his bed. He could hear him breathing and tapping on his StarkPad. If he paid attention, he could also hear the very slight hum emitted by the nanite casing, and the steady beating of his heart. All of it said _home_ and _safety_ to the back of Peter’s brain, and he instinctively relaxed again.

He was tempted to fall back to sleep. But before he could, Tony said, “You’ve been out for a few hours, kid. You should drink something before you pass out again.”

Peter sighed. “Okay.”

“I’ve got ginger ale right here, but I can also make you some tea.”

“Ginger ale’s fine,” Peter said, sitting up. Tony handed him the glass. “Where are Morgan and Pepper?”

“Grocery shopping. Morgan was climbing the walls. How’re you feeling?”

“Crappy,” Peter admitted. He let himself slump over until he was resting against Tony’s shoulder. “How’re you?”

“Tired,” Tony said. He took his glasses off and set them and his StarkPad on the nightstand, and then slid his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “But I’m officially fever-free, so that’s something.”

“Good,” Peter said with relief. He sipped his ginger ale slowly. 

“No dreams this time?” Tony said after a moment, his tone faux-light. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re not subtle. I’m sick, not stupid.”

Tony did not look especially repentant. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Good,” Peter muttered. 

“But I’m here if you do. You know that, right, kid?” he added seriously, smoothing the hair off Peter’s face. “You don’t have to just suffer.”

Peter was silent for a while. He probably should tell _someone_ about the dream, he thought. He wasn’t sure he wanted that someone to be Tony, though. Not only did it feel like tempting fate, it also felt like a burden. Even if he couldn’t quite say why. It wasn’t one he wanted to place on Tony or Pepper. Maybe May. Or Bruce. Bruce could probably handle it. 

“I know,” he finally said, when he realized he’d never responded. “It’s okay, Tony. Like I said––it didn’t happen. And it’s gotten a lot less frequent. I think it was just the fever.”

“Mmm,” Tony said skeptically. “All right. I trust you, kid.”

“Thanks,” Peter said gratefully. He closed his eyes. “So why are Pepper and Morgan at the grocery store? Other than Morgan climbing the walls.”

“Something about not having any food in the house,” Tony said, waving his hand. “We’re just about out of soup, and now you need it, so I think she was going to get ingredients for that. And more raspberry Jello, because Morgan wants to live on the crap. Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tony snorted. He wrapped his other arm around Peter, so he was holding him with both. Peter sighed in contentment. He adored Morgan and Pepper, but he’d have been lying if he’d said he didn’t cherish the moments when it was just him and Tony. He loved that they were a family now, more than they had ever been before, but there was a tiny part of him––maybe the part of him that had been an only child for more than fifteen years––that liked having Tony all to himself. 

Tony’s arms tightened around him briefly. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

Peter blinked. “Why?”

“Because you handled everything really well the last couple of days. It wasn’t an easy situation. Watching you take care of Morgan––hell, being on the receiving end of it myself––it struck me that you’re not the kid I met all those years ago.”

“I mean...” Peter swallowed. “I am, kind of. Sometimes I feel a lot like him.” Right now, for example, Peter felt very young, and very grateful that Tony was there to take care of him. 

“Not _just_ that kid, then,” Tony amended. He pinched Peter’s arm. “I’m trying to pay you a compliment, Pete.”

“Sorry,” Peter said with a wan smile. “Thanks, Tony.”

“That’s better.” Tony brushed a hand over Peter’s forehead. “You need anything?”

“Nope,” Peter said. He sighed, feeling fatigued and achy and kind of nauseous, and also utterly content. “I got everything I need right here.”

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking prompts in this universe and in my Stepdad Steve universe (but please don't leave me a prompt without saying _something_ about the story I just finished posting, it makes me kind of sad). 
> 
> P.S. I am super far behind in responding to comments. I love and cherish every one, and I will get to them, I swear!

**Author's Note:**

> I will write things other than super warm and fuzzy Ironfam sickfic eventually, but I feel like we all need the fic equivalent of _The Great British Bake-off_ right now, so here you go. Though I swear we will all feel normal again eventually. It isn't going to suck this hard forever. Also, If you can cry to your therapist for 45 minutes about _Endgame_ , I recommend it. I did exactly that, and I definitely felt better afterward.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] Morgan comforts a distressed Tony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888997) by [TheGracefulBlueCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGracefulBlueCat/pseuds/TheGracefulBlueCat)




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